Wull, in an-tissi-payshun of mai mom’z comin out as a soprono-girl-typ-singr, she has bougtid a veree cool witch’s hat. She left it on the bed an I thougt, “Huh. It blak. I’m blak. I shud go nap on this noo hat.” An so I rapt maiself around it, but I reelyzd that it is poyntee. I is not poyntee, cuz mom sez being poyntee is not polyt. An I wuz bornd in a tuxedo, so I wuz bornd to be polyt, at leest twennee-free hourz a dae.
So I is “navrgaytin” this whol polytniss thin. But meenwhil, I is servin as mai mom’s vocal cotch. This meen that she sing an I complayns about how she sing. I is getting veree gud at this.
“Huh!” sez I. “Yer A Flat kinda suk. Yu shud consintrayt mor on wher yer tong is.”
Or:
“Yu call that a E? Yer vybrott-o is goin to shimmy that down to a F-sharp. Huh.”
Lik that. I figgr, if I can’t mayk it as a innernashunnul spai, I kin be a top notch vokil cotch.
An that Symin Cowl fellr frum Inglund had bettr watch his toez…
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